From the Ashes
by LinesAcrossThePage
Summary: The rebellion is finally over, but the 76th and final Hunger Games has yet to begin. How will the people of Panem recover, and what is left of the few tributes who survived the rebellion? Begins at the end of Mockingjay, Katniss's POV .
1. Chapter 1

It's been two weeks since I finally woke up from the daze of sorrow the rebellion had put me in. The days passing by feel meaningless, but it doesn't seem to crush me completely now that I'm at least moving through some of the motions. Buttercup and I have been getting along even better than I expected. He hasn't hissed at me since the first day he came back to District 12, and he's started to enjoy sitting on my lap for a little comfort. It's like he knows that we share the same loss.

It's also been two weeks since I finally let the pain and sadness from Prim's death really hit me. I had been completely numb sitting in that chair while Greasy Sae took care of me, an empty shell just waiting for impact. I needed it though, after two hunger games and rebellion I felt all used up, like I didn't have enough of anything left in me to even stir an emotion. Mostly it just felt like I was dead but still trapped in my body, to forever suffer as a ghost of who I used to be.

Seeing Peeta again was like a wake up call. I'm not in this alone, and though I struggle to remember it, his reappearance has reminded me. Now that my mind is a little less muddled I know Greasy Sae has done a lot for me too. She comes by only every other day to check on me now, since I'm taking care of myself again. I've also been hunting regularly, so I make sure to bring some fresh game to her as thanks for all she's done and continues to do.

The air is crisp with the end of winter and fresh with beginning of spring. I'm off to the woods to catch the last lingering winter pheasants before they've all gone. It feels good to be outside, breathing fresh air. As I inhale deeply I feel freer than I have in nearly two years, now that I can leave District 12 bounds to hunt without fearing a death sentence by the Capitol.

My hair is getting longer. I can almost pull it into a ponytail at the nape of my neck, but for now it just hangs loose around my jaw line. I'm still week from months I spent sitting dormant, but I've gained a bit of strength and endurance back from the last week of daily hunting. If I were to be reaped for the Hunger Games right now, I wouldn't even stand a chance of living through the bloodbath. As I think about the games a shiver runs through me that makes me rigid. I close my eyes tight and try to remember what Dr. Aurelius taught me.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. There is only one more Hunger Games. This time it is the Capitol that will be reaped. I will never enter the arena again._

This manages to get me moving again.

As I trudge through town, I can see clean up from the bombing is moving swiftly; almost half of the destroyed buildings throughout the Seam have been cleansed of bodies, ash, and rubbish. All the streets and pathways themselves have been cleared. I wish I could be useful enough to help, but I can barely walk through town without being crippled with a potent mixture of grief and guilt. For now I hunt and bring freshly caught game for Greasy Sae to distribute to the people who have returned to the district. So far is seems the population of District 12 has grown to about fifty people. A few people have come as families, but most have come alone. Everyone has lost a lot to the Capitol and the rebellion, including the home we all once knew. But this is still home to many of us survivors, and so people have come back to try to restore life in District 12.

I can enter the woods at almost any point, since the fence that used to entrap the district is now barely stable being propped up by long sticks. Yet I still make my way to my usual point of entrance, sliding through the now gaping hole at the bottom of the fence. It's February and the sun's rays are warm but the occasional breeze still cuts across my cheeks with the edge of winter. I set up a few snares once I make it past the rock that always brings back intense memories of a friend that I used to have. Gale and I haven't spoken since the day I assassinated President Coin. I haven't figured out yet if he thinks what I did was treasonous and despicable or if he just doesn't believe I'll ever forgive him for Prim's death. My little sister, the only person I loved unconditionally, Prim…

I'm deep in thought, sitting on the ground with my arrows still resting in their sheath, when the crackle of a few broken twigs snaps me back to reality immediately. I spin around on my knees to look for the source, but I should have known. Peeta is walking towards me with a small sack in hand and a trace of a smile on his lips.

"I thought I might find you out here," He says, stopping just a few feet away, "I brought some bread and cheese, would you care for some lunch?"

Peeta and I have never had any semblance of a normal relationship. For many years he was the boy with the bread to me, the boy who saved my life before I had spoken a word to him. Then suddenly we were both reaped, and he was the boy I was supposed to kill in order to make it out of the Hunger Games alive. Then once we started playing the games he was my pretend lover, all the while I was terribly confused as to what I actually felt for him. He had always been willing to risk his life in order to save mine. I think I may have actually started to fall in love with him when he was kidnapped by the Capitol and tortured until he was a different person entirely. I was sure I had lost Peeta forever after he was hijacked, but most of the person I used to know stands before me today. However damaged he may be, I can feel the warmth of his being again.

I can't help but smile, a rare occasion these days. "Sure, pull up a few blades of grass." I pat the ground invitingly, although it is still mostly dirt at this point in the season.

Peeta sits down and pulls the loaf of bread out of his sack. He slices off two thick pieces of bread and I can see steam coming off them, dense like breath on a snowy day. The slices of cheese he puts on the bread are different than what I was used to in district twelve before the rebellion started, so I can only assume he traded his baked goods with someone who recently traveled to district twelve. Now that communication between districts is legal and trade is the free throughout Panem, there are plans to build actual trade centers in each district. I don't know how long this will take, though, since I only even learned of it from my mother and then Greasy Sae, both of who actually watch TV for updates from President Paylor. I don't really care to watch the broadcasts, just because I rarely feel much compulsion to do anything.

By the time Peeta hands me my share the cheese has melted slightly, but I can tell the cool February air has cooled it sufficiently. "Thanks," I say before I eat the whole thing in a matter of a minute, maybe less. It isn't long before Peeta finishes his portion.

I can tell he's thinking intensely about something when his expression becomes grim very quickly. "So, have you seen Haymitch lately?"

A pang of guilt flits through me briefly. "No, I haven't. I figured he was just too drunk to leave his house."

"That's the thing though, he was. And he still is." Peeta looks me right in my eyes and I see anguish. I can't help but think he's seeing nothing at all while he looks into mine.

"Peeta, Haymitch is always drunk. That's just who he is now." I know it sounds heartless even as I'm saying it. But what does Haymitch have to mope about? His family was dead a long time ago.

"I'm worried, Katniss. It's worse than before, much, much worse." He grips his sack tightly in his fist, "I went by to check on him yesterday and he wasn't conscious. I had to dump water on him twice before he even noticed anything. He looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks."

I watch Peeta as he anxiously twists his bag in his hands, waiting for my response. "But what can we do? I don't see how we can help, besides trying to force feed him."

"Well we could start by trying to wake him up again." He replies, and I know he doesn't just mean literally wake him up. We need to help Haymitch get out of his daze of sorrow. It tooks many months for Peeta to be brought back from being hijacked, and it took months for me to finally start to mourn the loss of Prim. Now it's Haymitch's turn.

"We're going to need a plan." I say, then I add, "but our first goal is to get him to eat." Peeta nods, and his expression lightens considerably now that he knows I'm willing to help.

"Let's get back to the village. We'll be able to plan a bit better in front of a warm fire." He stands up and offers me his hand.

"Okay, but first I have to check a few snares I set up," I say as I take his hand lightly. He lifts me with ease.

My snares caught two rabbits, a pheasant, and a squirrel. We walk back to the district in silence, feeling no need to fill the void with meaningless words.

* * *

**So this is the first fan fiction I've written in a long time! I want to write something that focuses on the result of the rebellion all over Panem, and also about how Peeta and Katniss grow back together without a bunch of meaningless fluff. **

**I hope whoever reads this enjoys it :)**


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up, standing and unsure of my surroundings. At first I think I'm in woods outside District Twelve, but a second glance at the greenery around me brings me to knees; I'm back in the first hunger games arena I competed in. How? Why? Whatever is going on, I know need to get up or I'll be dead before I can figure it out.

I'm almost back on my feet when a piercing cry of agony makes me stumble. This time I don't fall, instead I break out into a sprint towards the source of the screaming. It's only a matter of seconds before I reach a point in the woods where I can see there's a clearing ahead.

I try to run faster, but this seems to have the opposite effect on my body. It feels as if I've suddenly been immersed in an invisible bowl of gelatin that engulfs the entire arena. As I struggle to run I'm stifled and suffocated by the gelatin. _This must be a trick from the game makers_. After what feels like days, maybe weeks of slow motion movement, I finally reach the clearing.

In the middle of a large circular field I see Peeta. His hands are tied high above his head and he's slumped against the wooden post he is tied to. His back is facing me at an angle. At first it seems like his entire backside is gushing blood, but when I get closer I can see that he's got many deep claw marks running from his shoulders to his lower back. The woods around me begin to crack and groan with approaching enemies. Whatever or whoever did this to Peeta has come back to finish him off.

I reach for the arrows in my sheath but they're not there. I realize now that I'm completely unarmed. As I frantically scan the ground for weapons I see them emerge from the shadows of the trees.

Seven humanlike mutts with wolfish features step forward. I gaze in horror as I recognize every one of these werewolves; Finnick, Rue, Gale, Cinna, my mother, President Coin and President Snow are all towering before me, growling and frothing at the mouth. Each set of familiar eyes sears through me with hatred and rage.

The mutts all lunge forward, in an odd sort of unison, and I know my death is moments away. When they're all only a few yards from me they come to a sudden halt. I hear the rustling of the forest and see a small figure come out of the forest and into the open field.

"Prim!" I scream, "RUN!"

"Katniss!" She calls out to me. But before she can take more than a couple steps, Gale gives out a great rolling snarl and leaps forward. The other mutts watch him as he pins her to the ground and clenches his teeth around her neck. Before I can call out her, Gale rips her throat out.

"PRIM! NO PRIM, NO!" I'm yelling at the top of my lungs, but the sudden sensation of a cold sweat makes me silent. The feeling is all too familiar, since the nightmares have been a plague to my mind for many years now. I open my eyes and see that I'm in my bed, in my incredibly empty house in Victor's Village.

"It was just a nightmare." I tell myself out loud, trying to get rid of the cold emptiness the nightmares always leave me in.

But it's not a nightmare. Prim is dead, probably by Gale's hands. An ache in my chest throbs as I go through the events of my dream once more. I can remember and recall every little detail in these vivid nightmares, yet the pleasant dreams always slip away once I'm awake. I get up and make my way to the bathroom so I can take a quick shower to try to wash away the swell of feelings rushing over me.

I carefully strip off my underwear and t-shirt, both of which are grimy with sweat. When the air hits my moist skin it sends a shiver through my body. I can't help but long for the warmth of Peeta's arms around me.

Thinking about Peeta right now stirs a weird feeling inside me. The moment is so brief that I can't identify what kind of emotion it is. By the time the shower water is warm enough for me to step in, I've come to the resolution that I'll visit Peeta in the morning.

We've spent three days now trying to get Haymitch to eat something substantial, but he's hit a new level of drunken stupor I didn't know he was capable of. Yesterday he ran out of his supply of spirits and then resorted to drinking rubbing alcohol. Peeta says the train is scheduled to bring fresh stock of supplies tomorrow. We took Haymitch's isopropanol so he couldn't poison himself overnight with the toxic stuff. Hopefully we'll have a day to try and talk to a sober, albeit irritable, Haymitch.

The idea of losing Haymitch after all we've fought for is unbearable. Though I don't have any particular affection for him, I know I'll always feel connected to Haymitch somehow. He was and always will be my mentor. We understood each other from the very beginning, and I think that this mutual understanding was a major part of what kept me alive in the arena. So now that it's Haymitch in danger of losing his life, Peeta and I feel responsible. We know we have to help him.

The real question is how can we help him? He either can't or won't talk to us and only responds with occasional grunts to our questions. But since he doesn't have anything to drink today, hopefully we'll be able to communicate.

Once my skin is tinged pink from the hot water I get out of the shower and dry myself off. After tossing my dirty clothes in the corner of the room, I put on fresh clothes from my dresser. Heat is still pulsing through my body from the shower when I slip into my bed. This makes it easier than usual to fall back into a restless sleep.

* * *

The sound of knocking on my door wakes me up in the morning. I throw on a pair of pajama pants and slip down to the front door. Through the peephole I see Peeta staring back at me, so I open the door without further hesitation.

The smell of fresh baked goods wafts into my nose almost immediately. "Well good morning sleepy head. Or 'good afternoon' I should say!" Peeta laughs as he takes in my apparel and then steps inside.

"What time is it?" I ask. I didn't know I had slept so long. Now that I'm fully awake I can see that the sun is too high in the sky to stream through the windows, so it must be later than noon.

"About twelve thirty. Did you have a good sleep then?" He walks into the kitchen and puts down a basket of rolls and a jar of honey. My mouth waters instantaneously.

"Not really." I shiver involuntarily and try not to think about the dream again.

"Well this should sweeten up your day. The train came early," Peeta motions to the honey as he begins to slice open a roll.

I nod, but quickly realize what this means, "There's more alcohol in town." We knew we only had small window to try and communicate with Haymitch while he was sober. But since the train came early, knowing him he's already bought a few weeks worth of alcohol and is now holed up in his kitchen.

Peeta purses his lips, keeping any emotions from playing across them, "We both know he's already drunk at this point, I guess we could always try and hide his supply when he passes out tonight."

"Yeah, that'll get him on our good side." I bite into a roll that is slathered with butter and honey and avoid looking into his eyes. It makes me uneasy when Peeta sees the emptiness inside of me. Ever since he's come back from the capitol he's seemed so normal that it's weird to think he was ever hijacked. Maybe he's just better at hiding it, though. He always was a great actor. Eventually I add, "We'll have to try it anyways."

The two of us eat all of the rolls and about a fourth of the jar of honey. We plan on meeting up again in a few hours over at Haymitch's house, after I've freshened up and put some appropriate clothes on.

So around five-o-clock that evening, I traipse over to the first house in Victor's Village and brace myself for what I'm about to experience. Haymitch's house is about as grotesque as it was the first time I was in there. It reeks of molded food and vomit. Trash sits piled up near the walls and the kitchen is now a wasteland of empty bottles. Dust is caked on most surfaces in every room.

Peeta is already here, and Haymitch is predictably out cold at the kitchen table.

"Haymitch!" I yell while nudging him hard in the side, even though I know it's useless. "HAYMITCH!" This time I take his shoulders and shake his whole body.

"Mmm? Mmph." He makes a slight shift and is instantly still again.

"Well, at least we won't have to worry about him causing a ruckus. I already found his stash in the pantry." Peeta and I each grab two bottles and carry them over to his house, storing them in his study since his pantry is full of baking ingredients. We do this nine more times until the majority of the reserve is transferred.

We grab the last two bottles and just as we're about walk out the front door, Haymitch starts to stir. I think I hear him murmuring something so I head back into the kitchen and Peeta follows. Apparently he hadn't had time to knock himself out completely yet, because he's actually moving.

"Whadder youu guys doin?" He slurs with a mixture of sleep and intoxication, propping himself up with one elbow on the table. He stretches himself out and gives a great yawn.

"Oh, hi Haymitch. We didn't think you would wake up. We've been here for a while now." I say each word carefully because I don't know how far gone he is.

He looks at me with gaunt eyes and gives a shadow of a smirk. "Hey sweetheart, wanna give me a hand? The train came by this morning and I've got a special delivery from district 11 calling my name." He reaches for my assistance but I don't move. I'm frozen in place, staring at his haggard face and scraggly beard.

After a few moments of silence, Peeta speaks up, "Haymitch, we need to talk to you."

"What, are you guys breaking up with me?" He gives a loud guffaw but then chokes on a wheezing cough.

Neither of us crack a smile. Peeta responds once again, "We haven't been able to actually talk to you in months. This conversation is astounding."

"So what's your point?" He's expression turns sour very quickly; Haymitch can tell something is up.

"Our point is that we've taken your spirits and you can have it back in rations once you start eating and talking normally to us again." I retort matter-of-factly.

Haymitch leaps up from his positionat the dining table and stumbles. He has to grab onto a nearby coffee table to regain his balance. "_What _do you_ mean,_ you STOLE from me?" His face is already flush with anger.

"Haymitch we're really worried, you're as close to a parent as I've got any more," I can see the devastation etched in Peeta's furrowed eyebrows, "I don't want watch you waste away. Now eat a damn slice of bread, as a favor to me."

It's obvious Peeta's words have abated Haymitch's temper. "Give me at least one bottle and I'll eat," He says indignantly.

"I'll go get you a bottle after I watch you eat." Peeta responds firmly. He turns towards the door. "I'll be right bake with some bread." He's back in no more than a minute.

"You have to eat two slices." He has a knife with him, so he cuts off two hearty chunks and hands them to Haymitch

We stand and watch as Haymitch slowly picks away at the pieces of bread. He grumbles about thievery and betrayal, though much of it is incoherent to us, until he finally finishes off both slices.

Peeta and I then retrieve one bottle for Haymitch and drop it off with promises of coming back the next evening to make sure he eats again.

By the time the two of us are back outside standing on the grass I am overwhelmed by exhaustion. Peeta must have read it on my face because he gently grabs my hand and pulls me closer, so I'm facing him.

"You know, if you can't sleep because of the nightmares, I'm right next door," He searches my eyes deeply for something I wouldn't be able to identify. "I can't sleep much anymore either."

I don't know what he wants me to say, and I don't know what I want myself to say. I mostly just feel confused, so I say nothing at all.

"Goodnight, Katniss." And with those words Peeta lets go of my hand and retreats into his home.

Puzzled and tired, I go back to my own bed and lay there wondering what time I'll wake up screaming tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

The study glows a soft yellow in the rising morning sun; in this light the typically eerie room almost appears welcoming. I grip the telephone receiver in my trembling hand and dial the numbers that are written on the paper tacked to the small corkboard on the wall.

It only rings twice before a meek voice answers, "Hello?"

"Hi," I breathe, forgetting the lines I had practiced in my mind before I made the call.

She instantly knows who is calling, "Katniss? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me." I sigh and can't help feeling like this was a mistake. I have nothing to say to my mother, I just keep calling her back to make sure she's okay. She calls me too, I just don't always answer.

"How are you, Katniss? I haven't heard from you in over a week and I was starting to get worried." Her words sound genuine, but this wakes a splash of anger in me. Bitterness always surrounds my thoughts when I think about how once again, in the face of death, my mother has abandoned me. Then I always follow those thoughts with wisps of guilt and I become grateful that my mother is still alive; neither Peeta nor Haymitch could say the same.

"I'm well. How are you?" I know she's probably just trying to stay busy like I am. When I'm idle the emptiness consumes me more rapidly.

"Good, I've been quite busy. The hospital here has so many patients now that we can't produce enough medicine to treat them all," She pauses for a moment to see if I have anything to say. I don't, so she continues, "So now Paylor has approved plans to build a medicinal factory in District 12. It seems that they figured since everything has been demolished there, it would help to speed up reconstruction if everyone who returned to the district had a source of employment."

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow. Even though the rebellion won the uprising, it still shocks me how radically different the new government of Panem is. This slow movement towards a free and fair society is the only thing that reassures me that everything was worth fighting for.

"Truly." I can hear some clanging in the background and she goes silent for a moment, but then continues, "Apparently there's also been an approved plan to build houses in the districts to replace the ones that were destroyed during the rebellion. At least two a month per district, and they'll be focusing on the districts that incurred the most damage." That means Districts 2, 8, 12, 13, and the capitol.

"That's great news," I pretend to be more excited than I really am for the sake of my mother. She doesn't need to know how emotionless I've actually become, "Have they said anything more about building trade posts?"

"Yes, of course. Construction has been completed everywhere except for Districts 11, 12, and 13. You'll be seeing one in twelve any day now. Trains will be running daily, the capitol is taking application for transportation workers from all of the districts right now." Every time my mother mentions District 12, I can hear the pang of pain in her voice.

"That's good, I'll finally be able to start trading meat for fresh goods on a regular basis." Currently a new supply from the other districts only arrives here once every three weeks.

"So, has anyone else come back since I last talked to you?" She asks curiously, hoping to find that more of the people we once knew had survived the rebellion.

"Delly Cartwright and her brother came back a few days ago. A couple of miners and their families came back too. Greasy Sae says that the population is up to about a hundred now." I think about the people who haven't come back yet and it reminds me of something I've wanted to ask my mother for a while.

"Have you heard from Hazelle at all?" I ask. I still haven't spoken to Gale, but I care about his family. I hope they're doing okay, because I haven't heard any news of them at all.

My mother struggles for a minute, deciding how to respond to my question. She knows Gale and I are no longer speaking. "No, but I believe she and the boys moved to District 2 so that Gale could provide for them. I was actually just thinking of writing them a letter to see how they're doing."

"You should," I reply quickly, "I'd like to know how they're doing too." Knowing that Gale's family is well would ease some of my guilt.

A few moments of silence pass before she speaks again. "There is one more announcement that's been made as of late." She says tentatively. "This fall the Capitol will host the last ever Hunger Games, the one you and the other surviving tributes voted on."

I take in a sharp gust of air. I wouldn't have thought it was possible to feel less than I did before this moment, but my body quickly achieves a greater state of numbness. A strange and uncomfortable tingling sensation spreads from my chest to the tips of my limbs. I don't know what to make of this new information; each time I try to make a pathway of thought to a new conclusion I come to a blank.

My jaw tightens as I try to speak, "Oh," I manage to blurt out.

After a couple seconds I can hear my mother stirring about and another voice in the background. "Well, I have a patient that needs attention. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

I bite my lip momentarily, "Okay."

"I love you, Katniss." She sounds a bit sad.

My response is delayed, and I struggle trying to muster up enough emotion to give a meaningful response, "I love you too."

I don't listen to see if she hangs up before I place the handset back on the keypad. My fingers find their way to my scalp and I massage my head, kneading weary thoughts away. I decide I want to do something productive.

As I take a hot, cleansing shower my thoughts are marred with the 76th Hunger Games. Who will be chosen as tributes? Whose families will have to mourn the loss of a loved one? And will any of them deserve it?

Everything I think of conflicts with another thought, and it all just feels like a jumbled mess that keeps me from any sort of coherent reasoning. On one hand, I can't believe I voted to end more lives. On the other, I can't help but feeling like the Capitol deserves to feel the pain of the districts in one final game.

My skin is raw and red when I pull on my clothes: Some black jeans, a plain grey t-shirt, and my soft leather boots. The weather is fair enough, so I don't need a jacket.

Down in the kitchen I slather some butter on a piece of bread and eat it slowly, chewing over my thoughts with my breakfast. I don't want these final tributes to become the glorified symbols of the death toll from the second uprising. That may be hypocritical since I'm the mocking jay, but I know the struggle of the people of Panem, people from the capitol haven't suffered until now. There were so many other people who fought and died for the success of the rebellion, a lot of good souls who were slaves to Panem their entire lives. Yet very few will remember the names of the rebels who died.

If only I was a sculptor. I could mold a monument worthy of everyone's memory and immortalize their sacrifice. Instead I end up back in the study, searching for some paper and a pen. Both are in the middle drawer of the desk. I sit down in the chair and instantly begin to chew the end of the pen, unsure of what my goal is.

The shadows in the room have shifted slightly when my pen finally makes its way to the top left-hand corner of the paper.

Her name forms effortlessly across the page in carefully sculpted handwriting: _Primrose Everdeen_

Underneath her name I form a list:

_ Finnick Odair_

_ Boggs_

_ Cinna_

_ Madge Undersee_

_ Mags_

_Darius_

_ Lavinia_

_ Wiress_

I stop writing and re-read my list. A rush of sadness washes over me when I realize I don't know the full names of half the people whom I so desperately wish to commemorate. I decide this is not just going to be a list of rebels and war victims, but of people to be remembered, and so I add a couple more people to the page:

_Jasper Everdeen_

_ Rue_

The list is by no means finished, but I feel satisfied and pleasantly relieved.

I fold up the paper and put it in my pants pocket as I stand up. My feet lead me to my first destination of the day with mechanical memory.

The forest is bursting with life. Birds swoosh through the trees and the leaves hum with other animals unseen. Bushes rustle and grass sways as the forest goes into full swing after recovering from a particularly bitter winter. I grab my bow from the hollow in the tree and find the choice of game today is plentiful. I've caught a rabbit, two springtime turkeys, and four giant trout after just one hour on the hunt. I decide to go back to the village and give Greasy Sae everything but one of the turkeys. She gives me soap, honey, and a bowl of rabbit and potato stew. Greasy Sae's soups rival those I tasted in the capitol now that she has more vegetables from other districts to add into the mix.

After I finish the stew, I butcher my turkey and store it in the freezer. It's a beautiful day outside, the first warm one of the season, and I want to go back out into the forest; possibly for a swim in the small lake that my father discovered when I was young.

The information my mother shared with me is still clouding my thoughts, and I want to share it with Peeta. He's the only one who I can relate to any more, and he might make more sense of it than I can. I'm out the door and halfway over to Peeta's house before I even consider what to say to him.

He must be baking because I can see smoke rising from the chimney on his roof and the windows are open. I knock on the door and I don't have to wait very long before Peeta answers the front door. "Well hello," he says with his usual gentle smile, "What a pleasant surprise."

He has telltale streaks of flour randomly on his shirt, his cheek, and his left arm. "What's cooking today?" I ask as he steps aside and motions for me to come inside.

"A special order from Delly for her brother's birthday," As the words leave his mouth, a scrumptious scent of apples and cinnamon trickles into my nose. I can barely control the drool threatening to spill from my lips. "Apple pie. I made a second pie for dessert tonight with the extra apples she gave me. I just pulled them out of the oven."

We walk into the kitchen and Delly is sitting at the table looking just like she always has, only the extra bit of weight she used to have is completely gone now. She looks gaunt and her cheeks are drained of life.

"Hi Delly, how are you?" I ask as I pull a chair out and sit down across from her.

"I'm okay," Her answer is completely honest, "How are you, Katniss?"

"I'm okay." I decide to be honest with her too. I wonder about a lot of things, like where she and her brother are living and how they're supporting themselves, but I don't ask any questions.

"I'm sorry to hear about your sister, she was in my brother's class and he was fond of her." Her eyes well up with tears, I can see she's grieving, and in terrible pain.

"I'm sorry to hear about your father, Delly. Everyone seems to have lost someone to the rebellion." And we all know it's true. The only person in District 12 that I know whose entire family survived is Gale. And I'm glad his family was spared, I care for Gale's family.

My eyes shift to Peeta and I study his muddled expression. His eyebrows are knitted together and he's staring out the window, as if he's waiting for something to appear. I often wonder about how Peeta is dealing with losing his parents, because he's never once mentioned them since he's come back from the capitol.

"It's really weird being back here. Everything is different. Everything we used to know was destroyed." She looks out the window with frown. "But it's quite exciting to see how far we've come already. Liam and I will have and actual home by next week!"

I give in to my curiosity and ask her, "Where are you staying now?"

"In a make-shift shanty by where the merchants used to live. It's not bad since the weather has been nice, and we're fortunate to have a house ready for us so soon." Delly has always been an optimist, and she's true to it even in times like these. It's hard to see the downside of things around her.

"I have lots of extra room in this miniature mansion. If you guys want to sleep here until your new home is ready, you're both welcome to." Peeta is unfailingly kind, as always.

She purses her lips and hesitates to answer. "I appreciate the offer, Peeta, and I might have to take you up on it if a storm rolls in before it's done." She gives him a small smile of gratitude. "But for now I think we can stick it out. It's already half way finished at this point. Thank you though, it's very kind of you."

Peeta sends an understanding smile back and walks over to the window to check the pies. "I think it's cool enough to be placed in your basket now." He slips on his oven mitts and picks up one of the glass dishes.

Delly stands up and grabs a shallow, square woven basket that I didn't see sitting next to her before now. He sets the pie down in the basket and it fits just perfectly.

"Thank you so much for doing this on short notice," She walks over to the archway between the kitchen and the front room, "I'm sorry I have to grab this and run, but I promised Liam I'd be back as soon as possible."

"No worries, Delly. Let me know if you need anything." Peeta replies.

She nods. "It was nice seeing you Katniss, hopefully I'll see you guys soon." She then backs out of throughway and heads for the front door.

"See you later, Delly." I call after her. I've been fond of her since she helped Peeta regain his memory of me. She defended me endlessly, and I know that without her help he would have never really recovered from the hijacking. The click of the door shutting behind her tells us Delly is on her way home.

"So, what did you come over here for?" Peeta asks curiously, taking a seat at the table.

"Oh, well I didn't know I needed a reason." I pretend to be angry.

A smile spreads across his face. "You probably just smelt the pie and wanted to come get some for yourself."

"Actually I was hoping to just sneak in and take the whole thing. That plan didn't work out so I figured I'd stick around and see how you were doing." It's strange how quickly being alone with Peeta gives me a sense of normalcy.

"How kind of you." He rolls his eyes at me playfully.

"Well that's what I'm known for." When I pause for a moment I remember what I actually came over here for. I know I'm not ready to take Peeta to the lake, but there's a stream that's close too. "I thought I'd bestow another kindness upon you and see if you wanted to go to the forest with me."

"Oh, do you need some one to stomp around and scare all your prey away?"

I laugh, actually laugh, and suddenly I feel as if I weigh ten pounds lighter, "Let's go to the stream that's nearby. It's warm out, and you look like you could use a bath."

He laughs too, "I do feel a bit grungy after being around the hot ovens today. Let me put the pie away first and then I'll be ready."

After Peeta carefully slides the pie onto a cooling rack, he places a glass dome over it. He grabs some bread and a blanket, and packs them in a bag. We then make our way to my usual point of entry to the woods. I know exactly how to get to the stream from here, so it only takes about ten minutes before we arrive at its shores.

There's a break in the trees that makes this spot perfect for wading and relaxing. The sun makes the water glitter as it flows through shrubs and a few boulders. You can see to the bottom of the stream at all points; it's only about four feet deep in the middle and twenty feet wide.

The grass looks lush and soft, begging me to lie down and take a nap. Instead I take my boots off and roll up my jeans to my knees. Peeta lays out the blanket a couple feet from the shoreline. I sit on the edge and dip my toes in the trickling, shallow water while he takes a seat beside me.

Even though it's relatively easy for me to talk to Peeta, I struggle to find the right way to bring up what I found out from my mother.

"My mother…" But the words are not mine, they're Peeta's. It shocks me to the point that my mouth just hangs agape. His forehead wrinkles and he frowns quite deeply, and then continues in a slow voice, "My mother wasn't a very nice person. Real or not real?"

"Oh, um, Peeta, I don't-"

"It's okay to tell the truth, Katniss, I just want to know. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. My bad memories of her don't seem _off_ like the other fake ones do." His eyes trace my face and then trail off to the stream. "Real or not real?"

The first time Peeta saved my life plays through my mind. He burned his bread so he could give it to me, and then his mother gave him a welt for his mistake. I can only imagine the memories Peeta has swimming in his head.

"Real," I practically choke on the word.

"That's what I thought." He looks back into my eyes. "But my father was a good man. Real or not real?"

"Real." This one is easier to confirm. Mr. Mellark always took my squirrels for bread, and he even promised to feed Prim when Peeta and I were reaped.

A small smile appears briefly on Peeta's face, but an instant later, tears are washing it away. He turns away from me, so I grab his hand to comfort him. When he turns back around his eyes are dry.

"I'm sorry," He grimaces and squeezes my hand.

"You don't need to be." I find myself letting go of Peeta's hand and wrapping my arms around him. He hesitates for only a second before his arms are wrapped tightly around me too.

I don't know exactly how Peeta feels, but I do know he lost his parents and has only Dr. Aurelius and me to talk to. And somehow I doubt he can get a comforting hug from Dr. Aurelius.

Our embrace lasts for a couple minutes, and afterwards we just sit and talk for a while. We talk about the progress of the district, we talk about Delly, and we even talk about Peeta's family for a bit. He tells me that his eldest brother Remi was extremely angry with their other brother Adrien because he didn't volunteer for Peeta for the 74th Hunger Games. But that was easy for him to say, since he was too old to be eligible for the games.

We wade in the water a bit, and then let our feet dry off in the last rays of sun. The sun has nearly set when we pack up and head back to Victor's Village.

Back at Peeta's house we each have a slice of apple pie. No capitol dessert could compare to the incredibly rich flavor of the apples and cinnamon with the light, flaky crust. There's no question about it; Peeta was born to bake. It runs in his blood.

The moon and the stars decorate the sky by the time I'm leaving for my own home. That night I don't have any nightmares, only a strange dream where I'm standing on one side of a massive river. There's a shadowy figure standing on the other side, and the whole dream all I do is wonder who it is.

* * *

**I'm sorry this one took so long to finish. It's quite a bit longer than the first two.**

**I decided to name a bunch of nameless characters from the books like Mr. Everdeen and Peeta's brothers. I hope this didn't confuse anyone!**

**Thanks for reading my fiction this far :) I appreciate all the feedback. **


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